Lullaby
by MortonGirl
Summary: Zoe never thought she'd dread Serenity. She never thought she'd be the one left, either. Spoilers for Serenity: The Movie


A/N: This fic was written for the 2005 LiveJournal Bubbleficathon. It is one of many projects that has kept me from working on Broken, but I hope you'll forgive me for the delay and take this as my apology.

Bubblefic Request: Bath salts, and that slinky dress Wash wants to buy Zoe

Written For: The lovely and talented Em Meredith.

Rating: PG, or whatever they're calling that now.

Spoilers: Serenity the Movie

Disclaimer: Not at all mine.

Thanks to Em for once again taking on the Bubbleficathon, and JJBlazer, Cat, and Tash for the 11th hour, extraordinary betas.

* * *

_Every farthing of the cost/ all the dreaded cards fortell/ shall be paid but from this night/not a whisper, not a thought /not a kiss nor look be lost. – W.H. Auden_

There are days when Zoe thinks that she understands River. Days when the world in front of her is overlaid with the world inside her head, and it takes an effort to sort them out. In the time after Miranda, days are too long. Nights are longer, since her nightmares are all just crystalline memories. Zoe doesn't sleep.

There are repairs to be made, of course, and Serenity is dry-docked until she can fly again. Mal has made it clear that he wants to be in the sky sooner, not later, even if Serenity doesn't fly quite as true as she should. In some of her darker moments (and there are plenty to choose from), Zoe thinks he's already asked too much of both ship and crew, run them ragged and torn them up plenty enough, and she aches to lay the blame at his feet. The truth, of course, is that he's right. The Alliance has a long memory and an even longer reach, and Serenity is what will keep them alive. She always does.

The other truth, of course, is that there is always more than one truth, and Zoe's is this: she dreads setting foot on the ship. She never thought she'd dread Serenity.

She never thought she'd be the one left, either.

She can't avoid the ship forever. She knows she'll have to stand on the bridge and see the Captain, or Kaylee, or even River at the controls. She will have to accustom herself to more elbow room at supper. She will have to lie alone in their bed. All of these things will come, but she is grateful to have a little time to imagine life is all how it used to be. The world inside her head is a luxury; she knows that. She just can't bring herself to give it up quite yet.

Inara, of all people, has found them lodging while the repairs are made, and Zoe is deeply grateful for it. And so she sits at the dressing table in her room at the lodging house and stares blankly into the mirror. The knock at the door has her jerking her head up and straightening her shoulders. "Come in," she says.

Mal stands in the doorframe, looking bone-weary. "Kaylee says we're near to finished."

She nods. "We got someplace to go?"

"A job out past Eurydice. Long haul, but worth it." He pauses. "Reckoned it might be nice to stop at Haven before we set out. Say a piece, lay a marker. If you're agreeable, that is."

She softens just a little. "Thank you, sir. I am."

"Tomorrow mornin', then? I'll walk you over."

She freezes at the realization. One more night, and then she will have to board Serenity alone. The world in her head will be extinguished. "Thank you, sir," she manages to say, her voice not quite as even as she'd like. He waits for a moment, uncertainly, and then leaves without another word. Her duffel stands in the corner, a few changes of clothes, a few spare weapon. A gaudy red shirt is folded at the bottom, out of sight except in her mind's eye.

She should get ready, she thinks distantly, moving to the bathroom. Watching the clouds of steam that drift up as the enormous clawfoot tub begins to fill, she tries to quell the rising sense of panic that is starting to claw its way out of her, jagged and black. The water pouring out of the faucet doesn't have a rhythm, exactly, but it is soothing nevertheless and she tries to slow her pulse to match it.

Zoe unfastens the strip of leather tying back her hair, drags her fingers through the masses of waves. Wash used to bury his face in her hair, would twine his fingers through it absently after dinner while they played cards. It wasn't until she threatened to cut it that he shaved off his mustache, and while she had bluffed before, that one had certainly been the most rewarding.

She strips off her clothing and sets her gun under a towel, within easy reach. She knows there's not much sense suiting up every day; she doesn't leave the room, even for meals. And even if Niska himself came back and knocked on her door, she's not sure how much of a fight she'd put up. But there's a value in just going through the motions, in putting on the armor. It's what keeps her from living entirely in her head. It lets her keep one foot on either side of sanity, she thinks, more firmly tethered than River. She hopes.

The mirror is fogged over, but she rubs at it with the heel of her hand, just enough to check the scar that trails down her back. Simon has pronounced it healed enough for bathing. The doctor has visited daily on the pretext of checking the wound, but Zoe knows he is checking on_ her,_ no doubt at Kaylee's insistence. The thought, she appreciates; the visits, less so. Still, the heat of the bathwater eases the pain along her spine, so she's glad he's given the all-clear.

The water in the tub rises higher, lapping against the white porcelain. With a sigh, she strips and settles in gingerly, hissing just a little at the scorching water against her skin. The lodging house must cater to Companions and their clients, she thinks, leaning her head back against the high wall of the tub, and the thought makes one corner of her mouth tug up even as her eyes drift shut. And in that instant, the world blurs.

"I do like the watching," he says. "You bathing, me watching. It's nice."

She doesn't open her eyes. She has learned quickly enough that he will stay longer if she keeps them shut.

"I told you," he presses. "I told you this was a good idea."

"Mmmn-hmnn. Better if you were in here, though."

"But the watching!" he protests. "It's so much fun!"

"I wouldn't know," she says wryly, gesturing to her closed lids. She stretches out a leg and nudges the faucet off with her toe, smiling when she hears his breath catch.

"Oh, trust me, honey. The view from here is _spectacular_."

She flicks water in the direction his voice is coming from. Near as she can tell, he's perched on the far end of the tub, close to the tap. "Get in here," she orders.

"You should really be pampering yourself," he chides. "God only knows how long it'll be before Mal docks someplace with a bathtub again. Weeks. Months._ Years, _wife. A close attention to personal hygiene has never been one of that man's hallmarks. Take advantage before it's gone."

She shrugs a little, trying to fight off the melancholy that's welling up.

"Here," he says. "Try this."

There is the soft squeak and pop of a cork being tugged from a bottle, and then the sound of something rattling in glass. She sits up a little, leaning toward him, and breathes in the scent of jasmine and amber. It grows richer as he pours the salts in, and she swirls the water around.

"Nice," she murmurs, reaching out blindly for his hand.

Their fingers twine together and she exhales shakily. "Baby, please," she whispers.

He hushes her, and she feels his fingers stroke her face gently. "I'm right here," he says as she relaxes into his touch, turning her head so that his hand cups her cheek.

"Come in here. Be with me."

"I'm not really…"

"Get _in_ here," she demands, nipping at the heel of his hand.

"Well, if you promise to play rough…"

She can't help but laugh at that, and she starts to tug him in.

"Zoe, I'll smell all floral and girly! I should smell manly and…man-like."

"Ain't nobody but me going to smell you, baby. And I'll take what I can get."

"Scoot forward," he grumbles, and she does, folding her knees to her chest. The water sloshes as he slides in behind her, dampening her hair and splashing audibly to the tile floor.

She leans back and tucks her head against his neck, her body suddenly leaden.

"Better?" he asks once they're settled in.

"A little." Better than being entirely without him, of course – but still farther from how it should be than she cares to dwell on.

"So Serenity's heading out," he says, his arms coming around her.

"Captain's got us a job," she says.

"It'll be good for you to get back in the air. You always hated being planetside too long."

"Not always."

He scoffs, and she can feel the laughter vibrate through his chest into hers. "Name one time you weren't itching to get back into the sky," he says.

She thinks for a moment. "Triumph," she says softly. "We were just like this on Triumph."

"Yee—ees, except we were dressed. And outside. And there were people. I wonder how long it took Saffron to get out of that dumpster," he muses, and then presses his lips against her shoulder. "Triumph was nice," he agrees.

"We should have stayed." Regret makes the words thicken in her throat.

"We would have been miserable," he counters. "Triumph was nothing but desert and trouble. And it was hot, honey. Did you forget how easily I burn?"

"Wash." He is teasing, but the idea that she could forget anything makes her vaguely nauseous.

"I do," he insists blithely. "This alabaster skin is as much a curse as it is a blessing, you know."

She swats at him. "I'm serious."

"So am I. Zoe, my heart, you didn't want to stay in Triumph."

"We were happy," she says, almost accusingly.

"That's because we were together," he soothes. He sluices water over her skin, heat trickling through her where his fingers brush. "It wasn't the place. It was being with you."

"I want to go back."

"I know, love. I know."

"I want more time." One more night, she thinks, and then shoves the thought away.

He sighs. "I know."

"I want you."

His hands slide to her hips, tighten there for a moment. "I want you, too."

She feels the tears gather beneath her lids, forces them back. "I can't do this, Wash. I can't."

"You have to, sweetheart."

"It should have been me." She hasn't said it before, not in all the times he's come to her here, but she believes it with every cell in her body. Pretty safe bet she wouldn't have much cared for dying, but she'd looked at the possibility straight on, more than once, and judged it worth the risk. But losing Wash was a toll she had never expected, and she should have seen it coming.

He presses his lips to her shoulders, shakes his head. "If it had been you, they all would have died. No one would know about Miranda. It would have all been for nothing."

Anger flashes through her. "So? Miranda didn't matter. The Alliance isn't broken. They'll come after us again. Book, Mr. Universe, the Sanchez brothers? They're still dead. Reavers still fly. None of it mattered, Wash, except you, and now it's all gone and_ I can't do this_."

She turns around, presses her face to his neck and twines her fingers through his hair. "I can't," she repeats, gathering all the flyaway parts of herself, struggling for control. She can't leave him again, can't leave this half-world where he's not real, but he's still with her. She can't say goodbye, either, because it will mean that he is truly gone, and she can't live in a world where he is not. And she can't stay here, in an antique tub in a whore's chambers, a place where the ground is solid but she is not. She can't be Zoe anymore, she thinks wildly, can't keep being strong. She wants to curl into a ball and die, and she can't even do _that_, because it would dishonor Wash even more – to be less than who he believed her to be.

His mouth touches her forehead, presses whisper-soft kisses on her eyelids. "I have to go, Zoe. And so do you. When Serenity leaves, you need to be on her."

She bites her lip and tries to memorize the feel of his mouth on her skin. "Why?"

"Because she's your home," he says simply.

"_You're_ my home," she whispers, her voice breaking just a little bit.

"And you're mine," he says. "First one I ever had."

"I don't know what to do," she says. "I don't know how to do anything except just sit here."

There is no reproach in his voice when he says, "You could try going forward."

"Without you?" The idea seems obscene.

"Nothing's going to change that part of it, sweetie, whether you sit in this bathtub forever, or you get back on the ship, or planet-hop 'till you've seen every town in the 'verse." He presses his lips to her collarbone. "You have to move sometime, Zoe. You might as well do it on your own terms."

She considers this for a long time as he soaks a sponge in the scented water and gently rubs it over her body. She has lost more in her life than seems sporting, and each time she has set her shoulders, lifted her chin, and done what was needed to survive. The notion that she can do the same with Wash – just push her way through the sticky morass of grief and rage until she comes out the other side, not quite whole but mostly intact – doesn't sit easy with her. And yet there's a sort of crabbed sense to it, a grit that has more in common with the Zoe she was before Miranda than the one she's been since.

He interrupts her ruminating. "You know what I wish?" he asks abruptly. And then without giving her a chance to answer, "I wish I'd bought you that dress."

"Dress?"

"Remember? That dress we saw on Persephone? It was white, and kind of shimmery. Cut down to here," he adds helpfully, tracing a very low imaginary neckline across her breasts.

"Oh," she says, her breath hitching. "_That_ dress."

He sighs wistfully. "I had impure thoughts about you wearing that dress."

She can't help but grin at that. "Seems a waste of money to buy something you're just going to tear off me."

"It would have been worth every cent."

"That it would," she says.

"Zoe," he says, "Look at me."

She shakes her head no. He'll leave once she opens her eyes, and she wants to hang on to him for just a little longer.

"My first time on Serenity, honey, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," he tells her. "I walked onto that dirty, broken-down ship, and you were just glowing. Glowing, my love. Mal could have paid me in gruel and weak tea, and it would have been worth it, just to be near you."

"You said I scared the hell out of you."

"Well, sure. I said you looked beautiful, not friendly."

"Friendly costs extra, and the Captain's usually running close to the bone." She's trying to stall, and they both know it. The water is chilling around her, and she presses more tightly against him.

His arms come around her, warm and safe, and she feels the tears build again.

"Look at me, wife," he says again. "There's not much time left."

She grabs onto his hands, squeezes them as hard as she can.

"I'd stay if I could, baby. It just doesn't work that way."

The tears are leaking out from beneath her lids, helplessly. There isn't anything that she can say to stop it, she knows. Planets turn, stars burn out, water wears away stone. Wash is leaving her, and she can't stop it.

"It was worth it," he whispers against her hair. "You saved me, Zoe, the day I signed on to Serenity. I was just returning the favor."

She's sobbing now, the very first time, with her heart cracking wide open, sorrow spilling out around her. He tilts her face to his, lays a kiss on each eyelid and one achingly soft one on her lips. "Look at me, Zoe."

Slowly, she opens her eyes, and there he is – his sweet, pale face, hair sticking out everywhere, and his blue, blue eyes shining like tomorrow. "I love you," she whispers.

He nods, and he frames her face with his hands, and kisses her once more, mouth warm and soft against hers, tasting like almonds and apples, like always. "Always," he says against her mouth.

Without realizing it, Zoe's eyes flutter closed, and when she opens them a second time, she's alone. Ignoring the chill, she draws her knees to her chest and keens, the only time she will, a luxury she won't allow herself again.

Eventually, she climbs out of the tub and dries off with a thick creamy bath sheet, rubs lotion into her skin almost without noticing. A heavy robe, gold satin embroidered with poppies, hangs on the back of the door, and she pulls it on, knotting the belt around herself and moving towards the bed. She lies down to wait for the knock that will signal the second half of her life, but falls asleep, dreamlessly, for the first time since Miranda.

The next morning, light is slanting under the curtains and Mal is pounding at the door. When she stumbles towards it, pushing her hair out of her face, he nearly bursts through, worry etched clearly across his face. "I've been knocking for well nigh ten minutes, Zoe."

"Sorry, sir."

"You're not even dressed."

"Almost ready, sir." She steps into the bathroom to dress, ties her hair back and straps on her gun.

"Almost?" It's not impatience that's making him tetchy, she sees. Mal's anxious to leave, but he'll wait for her.

She clears her throat, shifts her weight slightly. "I have to go shopping, sir."

He says nothing for a long moment, just blinks at her a few times. "Shopping," he repeats slowly. If he was worried about her before, she thinks, this will surely convince the captain she's touched.

She nods, hitching her duffel over her shoulder and heading out of the room. The corner of her mouth turns up just a bit as she calls back, "There's a dress I need to buy."


End file.
